


Carnevale di Venezia

by Cocoa_N_Donuts



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: Avatrice, Carnevale di Venezia, F/F, Lots of liberties taken, Magic, Masquerade Dances, entirely self indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:34:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26506000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cocoa_N_Donuts/pseuds/Cocoa_N_Donuts
Summary: Ava's on a grad trip with her buddy JC in Venice, just in time for the Venice Carnival where everything is masked and glamorous. They get up to some graffiti shenanigans, Ava gets chased, dances with an anonymous, mysterious, masked stranger under a gorgeous sunset. But things are deeper and darker than the flowing, elaborate gowns and intricate masks, and Ava might just be caught in the crosshairs of it all.AU where the Sister Warriors aren't nuns, but a less holy, darker organisation, and... I get to write things without doing research :)
Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva
Comments: 50
Kudos: 146





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclaimer, this story will be 110% self-indulgent, so I'm just going to write what I want to de-stress because life is really kicking me in the butt. I haven't actually attended a Venetian Carnival, and I'm too busy and tired to actually do research so I've taken many liberties with the locations and events, excused with a big, fat "AU" stamped across the metaphorical cover of this story. 
> 
> ... You know what? This is an exercise of me winging the plot and letting the story write itself. Can't give you a summary of the plot if I don't know it myself. 
> 
> Also I'm a slut for a darker Beatrice. I mean, she's great as a nun. 10/10. But take away the habit and give her darkness in her soul that she's unafraid of showing, *and* actual underground political power? Yeet me off a cliff.

‘Mi scusi!’ Ava calls out as she dashes through the crowd, darting into the tiny Venetian alleyways and occasionally even jumping over tiny canals as she eludes the men still on her tail. 

God, why is Ava always _running_? 

It had started out innocently enough, Ava and her best bud JC were on their grad trip through Europe, and had decided to visit Venice during the famed Carnevale di Venezia. They decided to pass some time before the carnival went into full swing by... expressing their creativity on what they now know was privately owned property.

What they did not expect was that it was the mafia (or burly men dressed like thugs, anyway) that owned said property. Also all the yelling and the chasing that ensued. 

JC and Ava had taken one look at each other and immediately dropped their bottles of spray paint and ran in two different directions to better throw the men off (they’ve already pre-set a location where they’ll eventually meet, anyway). 

But while she was fast and nimble, the men seemed to have previous experience chasing others and were staying on her tail. 

This required a change of strategy. 

She ran towards St Mark’s Square, passing by a street with a few restaurants, and casually grabbed a fancy looking coat from the back of a chair, and a half-faced mask on another table. She turns a corner, and… bingo. 

St Mark’s Square. 

It was crowded, and loud, with ballroom music playing on speakers, and Ava took the chance to shrug on her stolen jacket and tie the mask to her face. And Ava slips into the crowd. 

She had stumbled upon a masquerade waltz at sunset. 

Ava was enchanted. Twirling capes and intricate masks under a sky of rich oranges and vivid purples, with the freedom of anonymity allowing her to do _whatever_ she wants...

It was electrifying. 

Then she catches sight of them, the mafia dudebros, wandering the square obviously on the lookout for her, and she immediately turns away. 

Man, it was only a little graffiti! Did they have to give chase _this_ far? 

She watches a couple dance, contemplating her next move. 

They were a fetching enough couple, Ava guessed, the guy was tall (but nowhere _near_ JC’s physique) yet, the woman was the one who caught Ava’s eye. She was shapey and so graceful with her movements, it was like watching an ethereal being float along the dancefloor. 

And her _outfit_. Ava was never one to stay updated with expensive brands, but even she knows that the gown that the lady was wearing definitely costs a liver or two. Maybe even along with a kidney.

Then she sees it, the guy’s wandering hand moving too far past _polite_ , and the slight flinch of discomfort that broke the flow of the woman’s dance. Ava springs into action, moving fast before the dance sweeps the couple away. 

‘Mi scusi!’ Ava cuts in with one of the few phrases of Italian she’d picked up along the way. Great mileage; Ava’s already used it twice in ten minutes. The Guy looks her up and down, and nods, as if satisfied with what he sees, disengages and eagerly turns to her for the dance, only for him to have her unbound hair whip him in the face as she places her hand on the other woman’s waist, taking her hand in the other, and _steps._ Leading his partner away from him pointedly. 

She shields her from him and moves the both of them away, letting the crowd do their job in making sure they never meet The Guy ever again. Only when she lost sight of both him and the men on her tail did she fully relax and take stock of her dance partner...who was currently staring at her like she had a third head, even as they swish along in the dance. 

_Huh. Ava never knew she could ballroom dance. Or was her partner that great a leader?_

Through an exquisite navy mask with gold and silver filigree contrasting beautifully on the woman’s lightly tanned skin, warm honey eyes stared curiously, and, maybe it was just Ava imagining things, gratefully at her. 

_‘Grazie mille.’_ The woman said, and _wow. Wow._ Her voice was like warm buttered toast, complete with freshly brewed tea and maybe a croissant just out from the oven. 

It was so warm, so smooth, Ava could listen to this woman read a dictionary. Hell, a phonebook, even. 

‘Oh you’re welcome. Uh… if that was what you said, I think? God, I really hope I read this right and rescued you from a creep and not anyone else you actually wanted to dance with.’ 

Now that they were so close, and Ava’s attention was fully on her dance partner, Ava noticed that the other girl, though already petite in her own right, was actually taller than her. And even though half her face was covered by a mask, the other girl was _really, really_ pretty. 

Her dance partner giggles, ‘You actually saved him from getting a broken wrist.’ She said in a perfect British accent and Ava had always thought that French accents were the sexiest, but she’ll clearly have to reconsider her opinions in light of newly obtained evidence. 

‘Huh. So you _didn’t_ need to be saved. Guess I butted in at the wrong time. Now I _really_ want to see him with a broken wrist.’

‘Your butting in still is very appreciated. I do want to enjoy this night of anonymity. That, and you’re definitely a more interesting dance partner. He was… very self absorbed, to say the least. And he kept stepping on me.’ 

‘Oh no.’ Ava murmured, and she immediately dropped her gaze to scrutinise her feet. 

‘What’s wrong?’ Worry stained her partner’s voice, and Ava hated that she was the one who put it there.

‘I have two left feet. I’m going to step on you, I can feel it. Better watch out and stop it before it actually happens.’

Her partner chuckles, ‘Hey,’ the taller woman removes her hand on Ava’s shoulder where it had been resting to press a finger on Ava’s chin to tilt it up. 

Ava was so surprised by the gentle touch that she followed the soft pressure to meet her partner’s smiling eyes. 

‘Just place your hand on my shoulder, we’ll swap roles, and I’ll lead.’ 

‘I _really_ don’t want to hurt you...’ 

‘Shh, trust me: focus on me, not on your feet. Let’s enjoy this beautiful dance together, alright?’

Ava looks at her partner, smiles, nods, and places her hand on her partner’s shoulder. 

A warm hand rests on Ava’s shoulder blade. And try as she might, Ava couldn’t _not_ focus on her partner. 

Through the winter chill and sea breeze, her partner smelled… not of expensive perfume or any other man-made deodorant as Ava had expected. 

She just smelled… clean. Something uniquely her. 

And the eyes holding Ava’s were intense, twinkling in the fading sunlight, and for once in her life, Ava had no words, content to stare into the depths of this woman’s honey eyes.

If the Carnevale was electrifying, her partner was magnetising. 

It was weird to still be thinking of her partner without a name. 

‘What’s your name?’ 

‘Oh, but the whole point of the Carnevale is anonymity, no?’

_Hm. Okay, very private person. But not actively hostile. I can work with that._

Ava makes a face, unsure if her partner can even see it behind her half mask, ‘I can’t just keep calling you my partner in my head.’ 

‘I don’t see a problem with that, but you can call me B.’ 

‘Is that your initial?’ 

‘Something like that. What’s your name?’ 

‘If we’re doing initials, A.’ 

B smiles, ‘Hm. A and B. Poetic, no? Seems like even our names are destined to be beside one another.’ 

’Wow. Is this your pick up line? Because I don’t know if I should be impressed or not.’ 

‘Oh, I don’t do pick up lines,’ B smirks, guiding Ava into a dip so smooth that she barely notices. When they recover, B pulls Ava in closer, so there was barely an inch between them, ‘I don’t need them.’ 

Ava sucks in a breath, mouth suddenly dry, ‘Wow. Uh. Huh. Cocky. It suits you.’ 

B’s smirk was bright as she winks, and it took Ava too long to realise that the dance has stopped, most participants (save for them) had parted ways, and everyone was clapping and cheering. 

The sun had set, and the dance was over. 

And Ava hadn’t stepped on B once. 

‘This is usually where we part ways, never to see each other again.’ B said. In the moonlit, street lamp lit square, B was radiant. 

‘You’re beautiful.’ Ava breathed. 

B’s demeanour shifted, playful to something almost overwhelmingly intense. 

‘Just this once,’ B murmured, and suddenly, soft lips were pressed against Ava’s. 

Oh, _wow._ Can her heart beat any faster?

The clean, uniquely B’s scent was back, intoxicating, and her lips were smooth, tasting slightly of cherry chapstick. 

To say Ava responded was an understatement. She wrapped both arms around B’s neck, pressing her full length against B, and opened her mouth without prompt to slip her tongue into the equation, drawing it across the entrance to the other woman’s lips before biting gently down on B’s lower lip. 

B inhaled sharply, her hands grasping tighter onto where they met Ava, and the kiss turned heated, primal. 

After what felt like hours, they finally drew apart, both breathing far too heavily.

Ava found her words first, ‘I… uh. I don’t want this to end here. You think we can grab some gelato before I—‘

_Go look for JC._

‘Oh shit.’ 

Ava had entirely forgotten about JC. He could have been killed and dumped by the mafia into a ditch for all she knew, and Ava was here dancing and kissing a woman— albeit a _very_ attractive woman—she barely met for an hour tops. 

‘I have to go. My friend— JC… he could be in trouble.’ 

B’s eyes widened from behind the mask, clearly taken aback.

‘Can I borrow your phone?’ Ava asked, looking around anxiously, as if JC was going to pop up from behind a pillar, alive and fine. 

B winced, and Ava clarifies, ‘I just want to give you my number. Nothing nefarious. Promise.’ 

‘I… really don’t have it with me now. I forgot to give this dress pockets.’ 

She made it? Wow. Bilingual, talented, legendary, showstopping...

‘So… do you want to give me your number?’ 

B grimaces, ‘I… really _can’t._ I’m sorry.’ 

Ava tries to shrug off the disappointment, the girl in front of her was too good to be true, and way out of her league, anyway. ‘Well, thank you for the dance, B, _truly._ I had a lot of fun, and I really, _really_ like you, but my friend could really be in a lot of trouble and I kinda really don’t want to find him dead in a ditch somewhere.’ 

B blinks, and Ava mentally smacked herself for revealing that much to who obviously was a high standing member of society. 

She would ask B to join her, but she didn’t want to drag B into something as potentially dark as the mafia. 

She kisses B one last time, a chaste peck on the lips for good luck. 

‘Goodbye.’ Ava turns and does what she does best; run. 

She made her way through the snaking alleys, searching and calling out. She searched their rendezvous point, even the little hotel that they were sharing, but JC was nowhere to be found. 

After hours of fruitless searching, Ava sat on her bed, hands propping her head in desperation as she dials JC’s number yet again. 

She’s just lost her best friend _and_ the girl in one night. Way to go, Salvius. 

* * *

On the other side of town, a caped figure with a navy mask embroidered with gold and silver filigree trails a slim, gloved finger across the symbol spray painted near the entrance to the building in an empty street. 

The symbol of Areala.

The caped figure enters the building and strode through the hallways to an iron-wrought door, opens it, and enters.

Within, there was a man chained to a chair, and three other cloaked, hooded, and masked people standing guard over him. 

The man stares at the lone figure in front of him, fear apparent in his eyes though he was _relatively_ unharmed. 

‘I don’t know! I told you, it was Ava who drew that symbol. It’s her thing! She’d got the white spray can and I got the black, you see? She has a necklace of it and she just doodles it sometimes! I—‘

‘What is your name?’ The lone figure asked. 

‘J…Jesús Chrisopoulos. My friends call me JC for short.’ 

His phone buzzes again, and the lone figure picks the phone up, staring at the face that lit up the screen. 

_Ava Maria_ 😇

_Incoming voice call..._

There was enough of a resemblance, Bea supposed. 

She answered the call.


	2. Resonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With B’s help, Ava finds JC. But at what cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve left some clues for Ava to figure it out, see if you can! Honestly wasn’t really feeling this chaper, so you have a shorter one, but I do like ending these on kinda cliffhangers!

“Resonance: Separate frequencies of differing consciousnesses synergising into one, stronger than the sum of its parts.”

* * *

_‘JC! Oh, Finally you pick up. I swear to god, if I just gave up the girl of my dreams to look for your sorry butt while you’re off banging some chick…’_

_‘Um, hello?’_

_‘Wait. You’re not JC. But you sound familiar.’_

_‘No, I am not Jesse. This phone was ringing in the middle of the street when I picked it up?’_

_‘Oh. Oh no.’_

_‘How can I return this phone?’_

_‘This is important. Okay, you sound decent. I’m going to give you his password, unlock his phone and share your location with me right now.’_

_There was a shuffle, some taps, and a location was shared, on a random street across the main canal from St Mark’s Square._

_‘Got it. I’ll meet you there in 15.’_

* * *

  
  


Ava couldn’t believe her luck. What were the odds that the attractive mystery stranger would be the one to pick up your missing friend’s phone and answer your call? 

Initially, Ava had been skeptical. Sure, the person over the phone had sounded like the stranger she’d danced with, but it could just be Ava projecting (or pining over something she’ll never have), but pshh.

She’d tossed her own jacket over herself, after the call, barely zipping it over her daily attire, letting her necklace hang freely over her neck; she’d always loved how it looked on her. With Google Maps in hand, she easily left her hotel and made her way to the location the stranger had sent her. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t too far from where they’d split up in the first place. 

(Also, daring to make running jumps over a few canals really helps with getting around in Venice.) 

Turns out, the person over the phone _was_ B, standing in the middle of a Venetian cobblestone street at night, still in her masquerade clothes, a fetching silhouette against a streetlamp. 

‘I don’t believe it. It really is you!’ Ava gasps. 

B turns at the sound of Ava’s voice, smiling slightly at her, ‘Hi again. I gather you’re still looking for your friend?’ She offers the phone she’d just picked up. 

‘Yeah, where’d you find the phone?’ 

‘It was right… here.’ B points at a corner, and Ava moves to examine the area, trying to look for signs, scuff marks, blood, anything that could lend a clue to where JC may be. Somebody has to channel their inner Sherlock. 

‘Can I help?’ B, ever the gentlewoman, asks. 

‘Well, I don’t want to trouble you, and this could be dangerous, I think we really pissed off the mafia… ’ Ava says, using the torchlight to search for any indication of where JC might have been, any sign he might have left for her.

‘Oh, it’s no trouble. I couldn’t sleep, anyway. I may not look like it, but I _can_ handle myself in a fight. Plus, it’s late, and I feel like I should accompany you while you look for your friend.’ 

‘If you’re sure, B. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m used to danger, but… I mean you're obviously… rich, and part of high society, or whatever they call it,’ Ava frowns, a thought occurring to her mid-sentence, ‘Why _are_ you on this side of town anyway? This is… pretty dodgy, really not where a lone girl should be walking alone at night, you know?’ 

‘It’s really a little embarrassing. My hotel’s just a stone’s throw away from St Mark’s Square, and I wanted to take a walk because the celebrations were loud and I’m a light sleeper. But then I got a little turned around and I’m just… a little lost now.’ B’s expression was sheepish and a little embarrassed. Totally adorable, though. 

‘Oh.’ Ava took in B’s predicament, ‘I can definitely walk you back… maybe after we take a quick look around for JC? If it’s still noisy in your room, you can always bunk with JC and me. I mean. Just for sleep, nothing else. I’m not that big of a creep. I didn’t mean— sorry.’ 

B’s chuckle was soft, hidden behind a finger. ‘Thank you, Ava. But it’s alright, I wouldn’t want to impose. Maybe we should look for your friend? You mentioned that you… doodled on a mafia den, so if that was their base, then maybe we want to check that building out first?’ 

Ava pulled a face that showed that she was impressed by what B said, beginning to lead them in a certain direction, ‘That’s a _concrete_ plan! The building is around here somewhere.’ 

B turns to give Ava a _look_ as she follows _,_ and Ava tries her best not to feel too proud about her joke.

‘Of all the building related humour available, you _brick_ -ed that one?’ B replied, humour plain in her voice, and though she couldn’t see anything but B’s eyes, Ava could _hear_ the raised eyebrow. 

‘Oh, I’ll give you a _solid_ ten for that joke.’ Ava replied.

They exchange amused glances at each other for a beat.

‘Is this going to be our thing now?’ Ava asks while B shakes her head almost exasperatedly. 

‘Trading terrible puns? I wouldn’t miss it for the world. That, and the dance we had, wouldn’t you say?’ 

Ava smirks at her, ‘Seeing that you practically danced for the both of us, definitely.’

‘You misunderstand.’ B smirks at Ava, as if enjoying their own little secret… that Ava didn’t understand. ‘I don’t just dance like that with anyone.’

‘Well, you were dancing with the guy before I cut in.’ 

‘You’ve missed the whole point,’ B says, stopping in the middle of the street to face Ava, as if it was the most important thing that Ava understood her point, ‘It’s about who I was dancing with, and _how._ May I demonstrate?’ B offers a hand out to Ava, gaze intense, yet unreadable behind her mask, an unspoken invitation that Ava accepted, hypnotised by the power in B’s eyes drawing her in. 

‘Any competent dancer can lead,’ B explained, maneuvering them into the closed position, holding a foot of distance between them. She guides them through a few steps wonderfully, without any smashing of toes at all. 

‘But I don’t dance like _this_ ,’ B pulls Ava close, closer until their bodies are touching, heat radiating off B, through Ava’s coat, until all Ava can feel is B’s presence enveloping her. 

There was no music, but the melodic hum singing in Ava’s veins was almost magical. The magnetizing feeling from the dance comes rushing back to Ava, and there’s a strong pulse clicking into place from within her chest, where she’s drawn in even closer to B, and everything feels _right._

‘You feel it too, don’t you? The resonance?’ B asks, lips to Ava’s ear, _‘This_ is what I mean. I don’t dance like this often. Or with just anyone.’

It was all Ava could do to press her front to B, cheek to cheek as she’s led in a slow dance in the middle of an abandoned Venetian street, trying to catch her breath stolen by B’s proximity and words. 

‘Yet, I still don’t know your name.’

A pause, ‘I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours.’ B whispers. 

‘Ava.’ Without hesitation. 

‘Beatrice.’ Likewise. 

_Finally. A name for the beautiful lady._

Ava abandons the dance position to toss her arms over Beatrice’s neck, hugging the taller woman, trying to get closer, closer, closer. ‘God, what are you doing to me, Beatrice? I’ve barely met you twice in four hours, and I’ve never felt as drawn to anyone else in my entire life. I want to know everything about you even though I know close to nothing.’ 

Beatrice stiffens a little, before sinking into the hug for a moment. Then she pulls back, hands on Ava’s forearms, ‘Sorry.’ A soft murmur.

Ava shakes her head in disappointment, ‘‘Do you work for the CIA or something?’

Beatrice chuckles, ‘Or something.’ 

Ava groans, ‘Why is your mysteriousness so attractive?’

‘It’s more than the mystery that’s attractive, Ava.’ Beatrice adds a wink for good measure. 

‘It’s definitely the cockiness, too.’

Beatrice smirks at Ava, and they remain that way for some time, gazing at each other. 

Beatrice’s gaze takes Ava in, falling from her eyes to her necklace. 

‘This is a lovely necklace.’ 

‘It is.’ Ava says breathlessly. 

‘Where did you get it? Does it mean anything?’ 

‘I don’t know. It’s been with me since the orphanage.’ 

‘Oh?’ 

‘Yeah. I don’t remember anything before the orphanage. Apparently the nuns said something about a car crash? My therapist says that my amnesia could be due to my brain blocking out traumatic memories, but I don’t think so.’

‘Why?’ Beatrice runs a finger over the pendant, tracing each line and dip of a lady’s face, haloed by a circle of swords that pointed outward in a circle, that like a sun.

Ava tries to ignore the flare of heat from where Beatrice was (almost) pressing into her sternum with a very attractive finger (can fingers even be attractive?). ‘I don’t feel traumatised. I don’t get flashbacks, or any other symptom of PTSD. It’s almost like...the memories are no longer there. Removed, somehow. But that’s not possible… right?’

Beatrice hums in consideration, ‘What was that saying again? Nothing’s impossible if you try hard enough?’

‘So if I try hard enough, I can get to see your unmasked face?’ Ava said hopefully.

It was one of what Ava is learning is a rare smile of Beatrice’s, simply because it was the first time Ava had ever seen it.

‘Nice try. You get an inch and ask for a yard, don’t you? A girl has to retain some of her mystery somehow. You already know my name.’

‘Unbelievable. My _tongue_ has been in your _mouth,_ Beatrice!’ Ava argues in frustration. 

Beatrice’s answering giggle was _adorable,_ ‘Maybe at the end of the night, if we’re still together. The masquerade only lasts the night, after all.’

‘Well I’m going to start working on getting you to my hotel room, then. Oh, wait. JC!’ Ava facepalms. For the second time that night, Ava’d totally forgotten about her best friend. Who was still missing. Who might be in mortal danger. Who was counting on her. 

Beatrice nods slightly, ‘Shall we continue, then?’

Ava continues leading the way, but not before hooking her pinky around Beatrice’s… for posterity. 

They walk around a few blocks, eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary, pinkies linked and making occasional small talk. 

Nothing. Until they came to the building that Ava and JC had defaced, one of the only buildings that still had their lights on. 

Beatrice grabbed Ava’s arm, pulling her into the shadows by the side of the building, and putting a finger on Ava’s lips, whispering, ‘Shh, do you hear that?’ 

Ava listens intently, ‘...holy shit.’ 

There was muffled screaming coming from the building. 

‘JC!’ Ava breaks free of Beatrice’s grip, charging into the building headfirst.

‘Ava!’ Beatrice whisper-yells behind her, but there was no way Ava could leave JC alone to be tortured for one more second. 

The first thing she noticed out of place was that the door to the building was unlocked. Ava shoves the knowledge aside, intent on following JC’s screams. The second thing was that unlike normal apartment buildings, this building only had one door at the end of the hallway, an iron wrought door that swung open too easily (though it was heavy), at Ava’s push. The third was that JC’s screams (from a video Ava now realised was one where he was bungee jumping) were looped through a speaker, with him actually chained unconscious in a chair… at the back of a room… with three other hooded figures pointing their weapons (two shotguns, a labrys, and… is that a crossbow charged with electricity?) at _her_.

The moment hangs by a thread, Ava on the cusp of a realisation...

It was almost as if someone had wanted her to be here, expected her and laid a trap here. The call, the suggestion to go back to where JC was last seen, everything had been--

_Beatrice._ The enigmatic woman she’d never met and knew nothing about, yet whom she’d trusted almost implicitly. Beatrice, whose mysteries had mysteries, and apparently, secrets.

_Stupid._ Ava scolded herself, _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

...And the hammer falls, shattering the moment when the noisy clanging of the iron wrought door brings Ava out of her contemplation.

Ava swivels to face the door, only to find Beatrice shutting the iron wrought door behind her and locking it with a wave of her hand. 

Ava can feel herself staring as she saw what could only be described as arcane glyphs sealing the doorway. Between the weapons pointed towards her, and an entirely innocuous looking Beatrice standing by the doorway, Ava chooses to back up towards the sharp pointy weapons. 

‘Thank you for joining us, Ava Salvius.’ Ava shivered at how Beatrice’s voice was now detached, clinical, as if welcoming a new lab rat to her game, with none of her prior warmth directed at Ava. 

Ava could barely recognise the woman in front of her. 

  
One thing was certain: Ava had _never_ shared her last name with Beatrice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the next chapter, PLOT!


End file.
